Thicker Than Blood
by Shepard-Vakarian
Summary: Inspired by a scene in Dragon Age Origins where my Dwarf Commoner, Orsecka Brosca, finally returns to Orzammar after being recruited by the Grey Wardens almost a year ago. She is overjoyed to find that she has a nephew that is heir to the throne and her family are living in the luxury of the Royal Palace of Orzammar. Yet her welcome from her Mother isn't quite what she expected...


_"Well look at you all fancied up. You find some princeling to give you pretty clothes while he sticks it to you, like your sister?"_

Like barbed wire, my mother's voice stung the air as I entered Prince Bhelen's bedroom. It had been so long since I'd seen Rica and to visit Orzammar on Grey Warden business and discover that she had given birth to a child – a noble child, no less! - helped wash away every stab of guilt that I felt when Duncan recruited me all those months ago. I was overjoyed to learn that I had a nephew; and that my mother and sister were no longer starving in Dust Town but living in the royal palace! My nephew had a right to the throne of Orzammar. Someday he could lead the Kingdom of Orzammar! No dwarf could ask for better fortunes upon returning to their homeland.

 **" _Now_ I remember why I left"** I drawled as I turned to face the crumpled, displeased features of my mother. I twinged as I observed her clothes were still ruffled, her hair unkempt and the stench of ale on her breath. Despite moving to the palace, it wasn't hard to tell that my mother had given up drinking in the same way that a darkspawn gives up the Deep Roads.

 _"Right Rica told me. Running off to the surface just like your father. Never thought to share a little of that fortune with your mother?"_ she snarled, her voice grating on my last nerve. More than that, I felt the stabbing realization that Rica had told her I had become a Grey Warden and I still wasn't good enough. _We_ still weren't good enough. The thought wounded me like a dagger to the heart twisting as I heard her venomous words.

 _"I've seen how they look at me, they think I'm gutter trash. Not one of them would let me be here if it wasn't for Rica. Precious Rica and her precious little brat! If he chokes on that gold rattle, we'd both be on the street!"_

I might've felt the dull ache of tears forming over my eyes if only working for the Carta hadn't hardened my tear ducts. At the same time, I was gritting my teeth while my hand hovered in position to retrieve an arrow for my crossbrow. I had killed people for saying less than that about my sister, Rica was the one guiding light that brought me back to Orzammar. Alistair could've come here without me. I took on the Carta for Rica's safety. I killed every one of them that threatened to lay a hand on my sister. Yet here I was, my fingers itching yet not touching my crossbow, at the suggestion that my own nephew might suffer and consequently Rica be thrown back to the merciless streets of Dust Town.

 **"Rica's happy. Don't you _dare_ ruin that."** I spat before she could continue her pathetic complaints. Before she could throw another wasting insult at her own family. Nights I would spend at camp wishing that I knew whether my family was in good health, what had become of Orzammar, would the casteless brand be an eternal mark that promises an unmarked grave? I wish I had spared myself the anxiety, I wished that I had slept soundly in the comfort that Rica was safe and my mother was never going to change. The bottle would take her and the Stone itself would wretch her bones.

 _"Oh precious Rica. What's she done besides getting herself knocked up? I deserved what she got, and more! And don't tell me any different! Get out!"_

That she would wish to undo Rica's fortunes if the offer had extended to herself gave me a pang of nausea that I couldn't shake until Mother finished speaking. It was only as I walked away that I realized my head had been hung the whole conversation. I was also reminded that Alistair, Zevran and Leliana were behind me the whole time as I felt a familiar hand grip my shoulder.

 _"Are you alright?"_ Leliana asked, her voice sweet like a bell with an undertone of worry. Alistair's face was blank; either he was in shock over what he had witnessed or was unfazed by the situation. I shook my head at Leliana. I wasn't alright – but I didn't want to talk about it.

After a few steps away from Bhelen's room, Zevran's thick Antivan accent broke the silence.

 _"Did you want her assassinated?"_ he asked in a tone that suggested he was actually being serious. There was a faint glimmer of amusement that crossed my cheeks but it was fast enough to be convinced it was never really there at all. With an assertive shake of my head, Zevran dropped the subject.

Within the space of a mere minute, my previous feelings of hope and optimism for my sister, my nephew and my life as a Grey Warden had been shattered into a thousand pieces. As far as my heart could discern, I was back in Dust Town, fighting yet again to earn a better life for Mother & Rica. Inside me, a yearning prayer to the ancestors that I could create a home where mother wasn't drinking and Rica could make her own way in the world, not relying on any benefactor or elevation of her caste to feed her and clothe her. That was the life that I had wanted.

Yet, as what happened came crashing down on me, it seemed that a grandchild and living in the palace still weren't good enough for my Mother. Rica being happy, parading through the Diamond Quarter with a Prince in tow and jeweled clothes were an insult to her. Sure, it wasn't the complete freedom of surfacer dwarves, but it was the best that we could've ever hoped for as a casteless family in Orzammar. And me being a Grey Warden, the icing on the cake for her.


End file.
